My Hero
by crematosis
Summary: Superhero Dean Winchester is Castiel's greatest nemesis. But when an injured Dean shows up at his door, everything changes.


Most people knew Castiel Novak through his professional reputation as a high-powered prosecutor at the Milton Law Firm. In the courtroom, he was well-respected for his meticulous planning, well-crafted arguments, and firm grasp of all the nuances of the law.

But very few people knew of his life outside the law. In fact, only three people alive knew he secretly spent time as the vigilante killer the press had dubbed Angel of Death.

Using his connections to law enforcement and the justice system, Castiel was able to hunt down criminals who had walked away scot-free after committing heinous crimes and former mobsters who didn't deserve to live a peaceful life under the witness protection program. He hunted them down and made them pay for their crimes. And then he went after their closest friends, associates, and families, sparing only the children.

And for that, people considered him a villain.

Castiel didn't care what the public thought. He was taking murderers, rapists, pedophiles, and other scumbags off the streets. It was all for the common good.

His brother Gabriel didn't understand why he had to do what he did, but supported him anyway, furnishing his secret lair and volunteering to be his alibi whenever necessary.

Gabriel was almost the perfect sidekick. It was just unfortunate that he happened to be dating Sam Winchester, the brother of his greatest nemesis, Dean Winchester.

Dean was just a friendly, small-town mechanic to most people. A bright smile, infectious laugh, and sparkling green eyes. But Castiel knew him better as his alter-ego, Southern Justice, Lebanon's very own superhero.

And god was he annoying.

As a superhero, Southern Justice was supposed to be fighting crime. Swooping in before a child fell to his death, saving a woman from being mugged, maybe even preventing environmental disasters. But it seemed like all the hero ever did was show up to foil Castiel's attempted murders.

When he stormed down into his secret lair to complain to Gabriel about how Southern Justice had thwarted his latest attempt to take out Dick Roman, his brother only laughed.

"You spend an awful lot of time bitching about your favorite superhero."

"He's my nemesis," Castiel snapped.

"Sure, sure. But it goes way beyond that. Every time he so much as breathes in your direction, you bitch to me about it. You were even complaining about his costume last week."

"Because it's a stupid outfit," Castiel growled. "What kind of hero wears cowboy boots to fight crime? It makes no sense."

"It does if you're Southern Justice." Gabriel leaned back on the couch and kicked his feet up. "You got to hand it to the guy. He came up with a concept and he stuck by it. Cowboy boots, the bandana mask. And those pistols." Gabriel kissed his fingertips. "It's the total package."

"They're not real. They just shoot netting," Castiel said scornfully.

"So what? The hero business is all about theatricality. You could lean a thing or two from him. Maybe change up your look a little. Go with something more exciting."

"I'm the Angel of Death. I'm not meant to look exciting."

"And you're not meant to look boring either. I mean, black cape, black leotard? You need a little color in there. Maybe-"

"For the last time, Gabriel, no, I will not allow you to make me a cape covered in flames."

Gabriel huffed. "It'd look cooler."

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. "I understand that you're only trying to help and I do appreciate it. I am very grateful for your work on the lair."

Gabriel really had done a remarkable job transforming Castiel's basement. The angular black sofas, red lighting, and framed photos of some of the murder scenes had really helped to give the place the sinister atmosphere of a lair.

"And yet you don't trust that I could make your costume just as awesome," Gabriel said. He shook his head and fixed Castiel with an exaggerated expression of pity. "Why, at this very moment Dean-o is probably complaining to Sammy about your boring costume."

Castiel slammed his hands on his desk. "I don't care what Dean Winchester thinks about my costume," he snarled. "He is an idiot who spends his time protecting people who deserve to die."

Gabriel inspected his nails. "You know, Sammy tells me Dean's a reasonable sort of guy. Maybe the two of you could talk out some kind of compromise. He looks the other way if you track down wanted fugitives, you agree to leave some of the smaller crooks to the justice system. He's probably at the Roadhouse drinking right now. You catch him before he drinks himself into a stupor and he'll probably be just agreeable enough to hear you out."

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. "Absolutely not. You know why he's out drinking tonight? He's celebrating my failures."

"It's not all about you. He goes out drinking every Friday night. Sammy told me so."

Castiel stroked his chin. "Perhaps I need to plan more of my murders for Friday nights then. If Southern Justice is too intoxicated to fight me, I will be assured of success."

"You really do spend more time worrying about what Dean's doing than focusing on your own plans. You sure there's not something going on between the two of you? I could have Sammy set you up on a date."

"That's ridiculous, Gabriel. Our ideals are diametrically opposed."

"Eh," Gabriel said with a little handwavey motion.

"Give it a rest, Gabriel. I am sick and tired of you trying to set me up on dates. I'm a supervillain. We're meant to live alone, letting our misery and solitude fuel our evil."

"If you say so," Gabriel said with a shrug. "Well, I'm not about to spend my Friday nights brooding. Sammy and I are going out."

Castiel waved him off.

He didn't begrudge Gabriel his fun. He was a normal man, not burdened with the weight of the world as Castiel was. He deserved to have a lover. And other than having an infuriating brother, Castiel had nothing against Sam Winchester. He seemed like a nice guy. Maybe if Castiel was lucky, Gabriel would bring back some intel on Southern Justice's activities.

Castiel lingered down in the lair for another hour, going through his journals for ideas with no avail. Eventually he dragged himself upstairs to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine as he pondered his next plan of attack. There had to be some way he could outmaneuver Southern Justice and off Dick Roman.

He was startled out of his musings by a knock on the door.

Gabriel must have forgotten his key. Again. Castiel had half a mind to leave his brother standing on the porch for awhile to teach him to stop being so careless, but brotherly affection overruled annoyance.

He threw open the front door and-

"Dean?" Castiel said with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't know where else to go," Dean said faintly. He staggered forward and stumbled into Castiel's chest.

Castiel caught him as his legs buckled and eased him down to the floor. "Dean? Dean, are you alright?"

Dean didn't respond.

Castiel shook him. "Answer me, Winchester. Are you hurt? Are you ill?"

With a groan, Dean's head lolled back and he stared up at Castiel with unfocused eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't know where else to go."

With Dean's neck bared, Castiel could see a line of cuts and bruises disappearing under the front of his flannel shirt. Nothing life-threatening as far as he could see, but they did look pretty painful. What was more concerning to Castiel was the vacant look in Dean's eyes.

"My god. What happened to you?"

"I…I don't remember." Dean shuddered and curled in on himself. "I don't..I don't even remember how I got here." He started shivering violently.

"Let's get you inside," Castiel said. With a little help from Dean, he dragged him into the house and settled him on the living room couch.

Dean was still shivering, so Castiel fetched a blanket and prepared a cup of tea.

"T-t-thanks," Dean said quietly, curling shaky hands around the cup of tea.

Castiel perched on the edge of the sofa. "Do you remember who did this to you?"

"G-gord-don W-walker."

"Of course. I should have known he'd be behind this," Castiel said, lip curling with distaste.

"K-ke-"

Castiel shushed him. "Don't trouble yourself. I'm very familiar with that unpleasant man and his entire crew. I have all the names I need."

"Cas," Dean said weakly. He reached out with a shaking hand.

"No, no, don't try to speak. Save your strength." Castiel pressed the cup of tea back to Dean's lips.

Dean took a long swallow and subsided back against the couch with a sigh.

"You'll feel much better once you get some rest," Castiel said reassuringly. He pulled the blanket up to Dean's chin. "I must go out for a bit, but I will return with more supplies to take care of you. My brother is a doctor, you know. He'll have everything I need to bring you back to full health."

Dean nodded and his eyes slipped shut, too exhausted to put up more of an argument.

Assured that Dean wasn't going to be waking up anytime soon, Castiel retreated to his lair and slipped on his mask.

Dean Winchester was Castiel's greatest nemesis. Gordon Walker would pay for touching him.


End file.
